Direct me, Chopper, I said silently, not wanting more commentary from Sindari.
But I couldn’t tell if it was directing me anywhere. I took a few more steps, tilting the tip upward at a row of scrolls, and—
“What is she doing?” a gruff male voice asked in a language my still-active charm translated for me.
“I do not know,” Zav replied. “She is a half-elf. That makes her quirky.”
“Fortunately, dragons are into quirky,” I said instead of explaining myself.
I lowered Chopper’s point to the ground and faced the entrance.
Zav, back in his human form, had walked in with a red-bearded dwarf who could have been Gimli’s brother. He wore a mashup of chain mail and plate armor and carried a battle-ax on his back. All of his gear radiated magic. Maybe he’d been on the way to challenge the lich himself.
“This is Lord Chasmmoor,” Zav said, “an enchanter and blacksmith descended from the great dwarven masters. He is also a representative sent by the dwarven king to come and speak with the dragons and express their gratitude toward our kind for vanquishing the loathed enemy that took over this world and had designs on the entire Cosmic Realms.”
The dwarf looked frankly at him, not intimidated by his powerful dragon aura. “The king just told me to see if the lich is dead.”
“Your gratitude is assumed.”
The dwarf grunted and strode toward me, eyeing Chopper. I couldn’t hide a frown. What if he recognized the sword as belonging to his people and wanted me to leave it in the rack with the others when I left? Why had Zav brought him down here? If I’d found my scroll and taken a portal back to Earth without ever encountering a dwarf, I could have gone on pretending I was the rightful owner of Chopper—or at least one carrying it justly and deservingly, since the rightful owner was presumably long dead.
Sindari, I may need you to gnaw off this guy’s foot if he tries to take Chopper.
He’s wearing metal boots. That’s a deterrent to foot gnawing.
Is it? Had I known, I would have gotten some steel-toed boots years ago.
That would have protected only your toes.
Modern Earth cobblers are short-sighted.
Obviously.
Zav must have sensed the artifact, for he turned toward the stove and scrutinized it. He lifted a hand, and power flowed from his fingers, wrapping around the stove. Orange light flared all around it, and I sensed the magic of the artifact inside fading and finally disappearing. Zav’s power continued to flow, and the walls of the stove melted inward as the orange light grew so bright I had to look away.
Chasmmoor watched impassively. Apparently, the stove wasn’t some beloved and priceless artifact, for he didn’t object to its destruction.
When the light diminished, nothing but a lump of melted metal remained.
“That would be the more thorough way to stop an artifact,” I murmured.
“Dragons are thorough,” Zav said, looking pleased with himself.
Chasmmoor turned back to me, studying me almost as thoroughly as he had Chopper. “I have heard of you, Ruin Bringer. The dwarf traveler Belohk came here with stories of you a moon before the lich arrived and forced us underground.”
“I’ve heard he’s been chatty about me. Not sure that’s a good thing. I may stick to rescuing taciturn dwarves in the future.”
Chasmmoor didn’t exactly smile, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. “That describes most of my people. How did you come by that sword?”
I told him about the battle with the zombie lord and that I had no idea how he’d gotten it.
“It is one of Dondethor Orehammer’s ancient blades and was in use until a few generations ago, when its owner was slain and it disappeared.” How long were dwarven generations? He didn’t say. “It likely passed through a number of hands before ending up on one of the wild worlds. Your Earth. It may even have been taken there to hide it from our people, who would have looked for it. There are no direct descendants of the Orehammer remaining, so there is not a proper owner that it should fall to, but we as a people like to keep an eye on our historically significant works.”
“By leaving them to collect dust in racks under mountains?” I waved to the others, prepared to argue that I should be allowed to keep Chopper.
“It was at the behest of our dragon rulers—” Chasmmoor slanted Zav a long look, “—that we sealed the remaining dragon blades inside this mountain. As I recall, they wanted any weapons capable of piercing dragon scales to be destroyed. We refused to let these masterpieces be treated thus. This was a compromise. They were stored here, along with the information on their powers and history.” He looked toward the scrolls.
“Any chance you want to let me borrow the one that explains Chopper’s powers?” I asked.
Zav stood back, his arms folded over his chest.
“Chopper?” Chasmmoor’s mouth drooped open. “That is what you have named this great blade?”
“Yeah. The zombie lord neglected to tell me its real name. Or anything about it. I’ve learned a couple of command words, but some of my enemies have suggested it can do more than turning hot and cold.”
It took Chasmmoor several long seconds to remember to close his mouth. Had I stunned him?
“You do not know the commands to activate its powers?” he asked.
“Just keyk and krundark.” Chopper turned icy white and red hot in succession, hopefully not confused by me using them back to back. “Oh, and eravekt.” The blade flared brighter blue. “I had it for ten years before I learned those. Like I said, no instruction manual was included.”
“And you have slain dragons?” Chasmmoor looked to Zav. For confirmation?
“Not by myself and generally only after Zav sufficiently mangled them. I’m just your average half-elf.” Admittedly, I’d only met a handful of half-elves and never chatted long with them, so I didn’t know how average I was.
“She is not average,” Zav stated. “She has slain dragons, even though this is not acceptable, and there are many who would like to see her punished and rehabilitated for such abhorrent behavior.”
“Many dragons.” Chasmmoor’s tone suggested that no other species would find this behavior abhorrent.
“Many dragons.” Zav’s tone suggested that no other species mattered, though at least he didn’t haughtily lift his chin and ooze arrogance. Maybe he was too tired after his battle to bother.
The response didn’t faze Chasmmoor. He even looked amused. “The king is grateful that you’ve helped our people—we all are—so I am here to offer my services in helping your mate further learn the powers of the dragon blade. It is our wish that when she is dead, or no longer able to fight, she will have the blade returned to our people. But for now, we believe that it is proper that it rest in the hands of someone who is battling dragons who would prefer to enslave the other intelligent races rather than live in harmony in the realms with them.”
I raised my eyebrows hopefully. They were going to let me keep Chopper? It sounded like I would have to stipulate in my will that Amber, or whoever survived me, take it back to the dwarves—maybe they would give me a portal generator to take home and keep in the closet for the trip—but I could live with that.